


Lollipops and Burritos

by cresselia8themoon



Category: Milo Murphy's Law
Genre: Dakavendish - Freeform, Gen, I loved this episode, Spoilers for First Impressions, i love them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-02
Updated: 2019-05-02
Packaged: 2020-02-15 20:06:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18676540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cresselia8themoon/pseuds/cresselia8themoon
Summary: How does a studious man with big dreams and a slacker with no regard for the rules become partners? Easy, just make your own rules.





	Lollipops and Burritos

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for First Impressions! 
> 
> Seriously I loved the Dakavendish in this episode like there’s so much it’s not even funny well it is but you know what I mean! Imma stop rambling now and get on with the story!

This was it. Today was the big day. On August 26, 2168, Balthazar T. Cavendish would pass his driving test with flying colors and become a full-fledged agent of the Bureau of Time Travel, an agency dedicated to protecting the delicate space-time continuum from evildoers, miscreants, and the shadowy Marmoset League.

Agents had it all: limousines with aquariums, high society parties, stylish tuxes and gorgeous dresses, and most importantly, recognition for their efforts in saving the world.

Cavendish always aimed high in his goals. What was the point of setting them if you didn’t aspire to achieve great things? When he was young, he dreamed of being a famous concert pianist.

Mozart had been invited to play in a royal palace when he was but a young lad. Beethoven composed despite his deafness. With the great composers of history as his inspiration, Cavendish had practiced and practiced until every note, rhythm, and key signature was burned into his mind.

But he was just a small fish in a big pond. He’d competed against children who fiddled before they walked, and the judges overlooked him despite his efforts to play everything as written in the piece.

So he turned to law in the Queen’s court instead. Barristers were fair, thorough, and had extensive knowledge of the precedents regarding a case. He would help the judges deliver justice for the innocent and punishment for the guilty.

Then Queen Elizabeth IV banned him from the royal palace for life because he dared to call her out for her refusal to compensate a florist for the damages that her precious corgi, Mr. Marshmallow Biscuit Longfellow, caused at his shop.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

He refused to go back anyway since Mr. Marshmallow Biscuit Longfellow urinated on his favorite suit and he had no choice but to throw it away.

Then Cavendish went back to school, taking classes such as Theoretical Mathematics of Time Travel and How to Avoid Erasing Yourself from History 101 until he’d earned his Bachelor’s of Science in Time Travel. Then he applied for a job at the BoTT and the rest was history.

Cavendish spent three harrowing months studying for this driving test. An important part of driving was knowing the car’s mechanics after all. 

And when he passed, he’d be a full-fledged agent!

Despite his nerves, he forced himself to concentrate on his electronic manual for this particular model of time travel vehicle. Student drivers used basic 2160 Tempos for easy handling and an auto-pilot to help get them back on track if they accidentally wound up in the Dark Ages. 

But if he clawed his way up to the S-Rank in BoTT, he could earn enough to buy a highly coveted 2167 Chronos Satellite, which was equipped to fly in the lower regions of space while providing a steady oxygen supply, temperature control, and enough safety features so that the driver didn’t accidentally hurtle to earth in a fiery blaze. 

“The Time Delineation gear is for quick trips in local space, allowing you to move three times faster than local time,” Cavendish recited. He knew the book forwards and backwards by now, but last-minute cramming never hurt anyone. 

“Alright, Cavendish,” he said as he stored the manual. Sounding confident was key. “You are on your way to becoming a fully-fledged time agent!  This deserves a lolly!” 

Alright, so he couldn’t resist a black currant lollipop. It was the best flavor on the market in his humble opinion. 

Then the driver’s door suddenly opened, and before he knew it, he was unceremoniously shoved into the passenger seat by some...some  _hoodlum_  with the largest afro Cavendish had ever seen in his life. 

The world was a cruel mistress. He spent all this time studying for this moment, and the payoff was being carjacked by some greaser who thought he looked good just cause he wore a leather jacket. 

And to add insult to injury, the jerk wasted his last black currant lollipop. 

* * *

 

Dakota liked food, music, and movies. He was just a simple guy with simple pleasures. While he’d be perfectly happy working in restaurant jobs for the rest of his life, it didn’t pay the bills. 

Companies preferred robot workers these days. More efficient and less costly, they argued. 

Most human servers worked in small family-owned restaurants, but they’d be out of luck in a few months when the patrons inevitably moved onto more snazzy, well-known businesses. 

Two weeks ago, Dakota had the bright idea of dressing up like a robot and seeing how well he could imitate his mechanical co-workers at a popular fast-food joint. It worked for a few hours, but his appetite got the better of him and he was caught stealing chicken strips on camera.

He’d been carted off to jail and charged with impersonating robots without a permit. Humanity had advanced to flying cars and time travel, but they’d never been able to fix the justice system.

On the plus side, the incident had given Dakota the idea to get a permit so he could legally impersonate a robot. 

He discovered the eviction notice after he’d been released from his week-long stay in jail. There just hadn’t been enough money to pay rent and groceries. He could pay rent and starve, or he could pay for food and allow himself to be kicked out. 

It wasn’t a hard choice, nor was it a total loss. Dakota was already a recruit for the BoTT, and they had many private study rooms. They called it a study room, Dakota called it his bedroom, but either way, it was a room. 

And the cafeteria food was delicious. 

The morning of August 26, 2168 was just like any other. Dakota scarfed down his eggs and French toast, topping it off with a glass of orange juice. As he prepared to sweet-talk Penelope the mechanical cafeteria lady into giving him a second batch of eggs, the intercom beeped. 

“New time agent recruits, please select a vehicle for your driving test. If you survive today, you’ll get your first assignment and partners tomorrow. Thank you,” a bored man in some serious need of coffee announced. 

For some reason, the announcement had given him a craving for one of Rita’s burritos in the 21st century. 

“Yo, Penelope, that a new ocular lens on ya? Looks good. Say, how ‘bout holding a few chocolate muffins for me? I’ll pick ‘em up later,” Dakota said, leaning on the counter lazily. 

“My circuitry is heating up,” Penelope monotoned. 

Though she had no outward forms of expression, Dakota knew from experience that circuitry heating up was the equivalent of blushing and that she would honor his request.

With everyone scrambling to file last-minute digital work (paper had been completely phased out), the path to the holding bay for student vehicles was clear. 

After a brief round of eenie-meenie-miney-mo, Dakota headed over to the winning vehicle and opened the door, which thankfully wasn’t locked. 

“Slide over, stretch. I need a ride,” Dakota said as he shoved the driver—a tall man with ginger hair and thick-rimmed glasses—aside and made himself comfortable. 

“Wait a minute, who are you?” the other man asked indignantly. His accent was overly posh like one of those fake Brits on TV. He held a purple lollipop in his outstretched hand, and Dakota snatched it up, much to the other man’s dismay.

He was kinda funny actually, so Dakota decided to name him Stretch. 

“Is this for me? Thanks!” Dakota exclaimed as he stuck the lollipop in his mouth. Something to suck on for the road couldn’t hurt. 

Then an extremely bitter flavor exploded across his tongue, and Dakota yanked the lollipop out of his mouth, exclaiming his disgust for Stretch’s choice in flavor. 

“BLECH! What flavor is this?” Dakota asked in disgust. He was going to need some extra salsa to get rid of this gross flavor that had no right existing. 

“Black currant,” Stretch enunciated carefully, his eyebrows knitting together. 

Yeah, didn’t look like they were getting along, especially if Stretch insisted that black currant was delicious and Dakota’s taste buds were the ones that were in need of major readjustments. 

Dakota threw the disgusting lollipop over his shoulder, its purple juices making the entire thing stick to the window. 

“Not even gonna ask what that is,” Dakota muttered as he started up the car and opened a time portal. 

Good thing he knew a shortcut, because he seriously needed to get that lollipop out of his system. 

* * *

 

Cavendish privately named this man—no, this unwanted hitchhiking selfish lollipop-stealing vagrant ‘Hoodlum’. 

It didn’t matter how loud Cavendish protested. Hoodlum broke every speed limit law in the manual and in all of existence, took bends at two hundred temporometers an hour when the recommended was just fifty, and didn’t check the gauge to make sure they had enough time juice to last the entire trip. 

In the span of thirty seconds, the vehicle was caught in the powerful jaws of a T-rex, used as leverage for a sauropod to reach some high-hanging leaves, and battered by an angry Triceratops. 

By the time Hoodlum finally got them to the safety of paved 21st-century streets, the time vehicle had been battered and bruised to the point of being a miracle that it functioned. 

“What. Was. That?” Cavendish asked flatly, too scared for his life that he couldn’t outwardly express his mortal terror. 

“Shortcut through the Mesozoic,” Hoodlum said casually, as if he hadn’t just taken them on a crazy joyride that would’ve made them another statistic to the list of BoTT recruits who didn’t survive the training. “Come on, let’s get some burritos.” 

Hoodlum pushed the eject button, and Cavendish was thrown onto the asphalt, his glasses knocked askew from impact. 

“Tres burritos, Rita!” Dakota called to a nearby street vendor. “That means three burritos, Rita.” 

This miscreant was actively sabotaging Cavendish’s driving test with his reckless, self-serving ways. Who did he think he was anyway? Cavendish’s anger boiled to a breaking point. He was sick and tired of being tossed around like a ragdoll caught in the whimsical fantasies of a child who’d never grown up. 

“GREAT GRABKNACKLES! YOU RISKED OUR LIVES FOR A LOUSY BURRITO?” Cavendish stormed up to Hoodlum, pointing an accusing finger in his face. Cavendish ignored the dirty looks Hoodlum and Rita threw his way. 

Any sane person would know perfectly well that burritos did not supersede basic self-preservation. 

“No, no. I risked our lives for an  _amazing_ burrito, so good it only exists in this time and place _,_ ” Hoodlum retorted. “You want nachos with yours?” 

Cavendish scowled and folded his arms. He would never sink low enough to accept food from Hoodlum. “You would make a terrible partner,” Cavendish snapped, pointedly turning his back to this scoundrel. 

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t asking,” Hoodlum replied. 

That was the only sensible thing he’d said all day. 

* * *

 

Stretch didn’t want a burrito. 

Fine, whatever. Dakota tried, at least. Though who in their right mind would turn down an amazing burrito? Literally, an Amazing Burrito. It was right on the sign. 

Rita quietly excused herself, not wanting to be part of the awkwardness that permeated the air as Dakota ate and Stretch grumbled. 

Stretch seemed to have two speeds: Buzzkill and Even More Buzzkill. 

Really, hadn’t this guy ever heard of fun in his life? 

“It’s in the manual. Page 9, Paragraph 15, Line 5. ‘A recruit may not use a company vehicle for personal use’,” Stretch quoted. 

Dakota had no desire to open the manual and check it himself, but he was pretty sure the manual didn’t have every individual paragraph and line marked. He almost felt bad for Stretch. He didn’t seem to have much of a social life if he memorized everything in that dusty old knickknack. 

“THERE ARE RULES, MAN!” Stretch yelled, shoving the manual in Dakota’s face. 

For a stickler, Stretch had no qualms about invading personal space and breaking rules on basic politeness. 

Dakota had to give the man a point. 

“I know, I just choose not to follow them,” Dakota proudly admitted. Rules never did anything for him, so why should he have to obey some stupid list? 

“When we get back to our own time, I will be reporting you to the proper authorities,” Stretch said pompously, puffing out his chest in a pitiful attempt to be authoritative. 

Really, his spaceman suit was working against him in that regard. It looked more ridiculous than anything. 

Besides, the authorities never could make charges stick for long. Robots were so easy to bribe with spare nuts and bolts. 

“Not everything’s in that manual. Sometimes you gotta improvise when the unexpected happens-” a strange whooshing noise caught Dakota’s attention, and he craned his neck to see a torrent of water carrying a battered school bus with a rocket sticking out of its roof and— _were those kids being dragged behind on a broken back door?_

“-like that! Those kids need help!” Dakota shouted, tossing his burrito aside as he leaped out of his seat. “Come on, let’s roll!” 

He wasn’t sure how those kids wound up in such a precarious situation, but their bus driver was endangering their lives and not even slowing down so he had to do something! 

As he darted toward the car, he suddenly realized how cool it would be if he could leap over the car hood like some inexplicably awesome action hero. 

He felt like a regular James Bond, like a jerky 1980s movie protagonist whose trumpets bellowed their theme like they were some god descended to earth and-

He felt that solid concrete hurt. 

A lot. 

* * *

 

It all happened so fast. One moment they were locked in a vicious argument, then they saw children in peril (an incredibly strange sort of peril, but they called it peril for a reason), then Hoodlum shouted about rescuing them and wound up faceplanting into the asphalt as he tried to leap over the time vehicle’s hood.

If the situation wasn’t so dire, Cavendish would’ve been more than happy to hold it over Hoodlum’s head as karma. 

Cavendish buckled himself a scant two seconds before Hoodlum gunned the engine, floored the gas pedal, and crashed through a fence without remorse for destroying public property. 

Cavendish found himself not caring that they broke the rules regarding wonton destruction with a time vehicle as outlined on Page 45, Paragraph 6, Lines 3-7. 

Fences could be replaced. Children’s lives could not. 

As they pursued the school bus at a speed that surely couldn’t be safe for any car, much less a near-totaled one, Cavendish caught a glimpse of the panicked expression on Hoodlum’s face. He gripped the wheel tightly, his knuckles turning white as he wildly spun the wheel to avoid oncoming traffic. 

Hoodlum didn’t know these kids. 

But he would still shatter speed limit laws, risk crashing himself, and refuse to adhere to BoTT’s rules about revealing the existence of time travel before it was invented for them. 

Cavendish had a feeling that he sorely misjudged Hoodlum after all. 

The rocket propelled the bus into a river, and the children—dear White Cliffs of Dover how were they even holding on at this point—were getting further away every second. 

“We’re going to lose them!” Cavendish shouted as the bus careened down the opposite fork in the river. 

“Not if I can help it!” Hoodlum yelled, slamming the gas pedal to the floor and pushing their odometer to dangerous levels. 

Cavendish clung to his seat for dear life, an uncomfortable pit of dread settling in his stomach that wasn’t just from being airborne and upside-down. 

His first mission as a time travel agent would not end in tragedy. He’d never forgive himself if it did. 

The moment they landed (right-side up thank goodness) on the opposite bank, the rocket suddenly ignited, pushing the bus and children even further out of their reach. 

“They’re going too fast!” Cavendish bit back a curse. They’d been so close that time, yet the chance of a successful rescue had been snatched from their grip. 

The water churned and swirled uncontrollably, throwing all sorts of flailing aquatic creatures into the air. 

Just their luck, the children and the bus door they’d been riding on went airborne and the rope that tied them to the bus fell away. 

* * *

 

Dakota gritted his teeth, massively frustrated that they’d been so close to getting those kids away from danger but failing every single time. “And now they’re airborne,” he griped.  

“Wait, we’ll use the Time Delineation gear!” Stretch exclaimed. 

Dakota had no idea what Stretch was talking about. They didn’t have time to waste. “The what now?” 

“It’s the Time Delineation gear! It allows you to move three times faster than local time! That’s in the manual!” Stretch exclaimed, pulling a lever through a series of ninety-degree turns. A strange power surrounded the time vehicle, bringing everything to a near-complete standstill while Dakota maintained their rapid speed. 

Water stood still, animals were suspended in their movement, and the children and door hovered in midair without being subject to gravity. 

It was incredible. 

If Stretch hadn’t memorized that manual, neither of them would have known about the Time Delineation gear and the children’s lives would be in even greater jeopardy. 

When all was said and done, maybe Dakota could borrow Stretch’s manual and see if anything else in there would be useful. 

If Stretch was willing to forgive him for the whole burrito thing, that is. 

“Whoo-hoo!” Stretch yelled. “We’re actually driving on water!” 

Huh. So Stretch could smile after all. Who knew? He looked good. 

“Bet that wasn’t in your manual!” Dakota exclaimed. 

He leaned forward, giving the car one last burst of speed before they went airborne a second time. The underside of the bus door hit the windshield, and he and Stretch held the door in place with their fingertips. The two children, a boy with an overly-large backpack and a girl with flaming red hair, had frightened expressions on their faces but seemed physically unharmed. 

How two elementary-age children wound up in this situation, he had no idea.

Stretch pulled the Time Delineation gear back into its previous position with his free hand, and the timeflow went back to normal. 

The rocket finally burned out, thank goodness. 

Driving was harder with just one hand, and Dakota nearly rammed into the back of the stopped school bus in front of the elementary school. He was just glad the student driver cars had excellent brakes. 

The momentum of their sudden stop caused the children to fly off the windshield and into the safety of the bus, the door slamming shut into place behind them. 

Once Dakota and Stretch recovered from nearly hitting the windshield themselves, they sighed in relief. 

* * *

 

The return trip to 2168 had been awkward, to say the least. Whether Hoodlum drove at normal speed because he wanted to or because the poor car suffered enough abuse, Cavendish had no clue. After Hoodlum’s reckless yet heroic driving, Cavendish decided to hold his tongue for once and make plans for the imminent future. 

Cavendish knew he didn’t have the best track record when it came to working with others. Back when he played piano, he never worked well with an accompanist. Too often those sessions devolved into a screaming match over tempo and dynamics. He’d cultivated a reputation for being uptight and obnoxious in the barrister community.

It would be difficult to work with someone he didn’t know, but he supposed he’d manage. They would just be work partners after all. Their work and personal lives would never intersect.

He was just thankful that the vehicle maintenance department didn’t ask too many questions about the battered state of the car. Apparently, many student driving cars didn’t survive the BoTT driving tests and wound up being used for scrap metal to build cheap robots.

The next day, Cavendish was called into Mr. Block’s office to meet his new partner. Cavendish had passed his test with flying colors. He was lucky they scored him based on how alive he was rather than what he did on the road. If anyone thought to check the vehicle records, they would’ve been horrified by what Hoodlum put the car through. And Cavendish would’ve likely been mistaken for an accomplice.

“Okay, let’s see what we got here,” Mr. Block grunted as Cavendish walked into his office. Cavendish’s heart raced, and he wrung his hands while Mr. Block looked over the official document that stated who Cavendish’s new partner would be. “Recruit number 68427, Cavendish. This is your new partner, Vinnie Dakota.” 

A figure stood up from the plush chair in front of Mr. Block’s desk, and Cavendish froze. That afro and leather jacket would forever be burned into his memory.

“Hoo boy,” Hoo-no, his name was Dakota, Cavendish reminded himself. As in North Dakota and South Dakota. Dakota rubbed the back of his head, avoiding Cavendish’s eyes. 

“It’s you!” Cavendish gasped.

Fate sure loved her irony.

But Cavendish derived some satisfaction from knowing this was just as awkward for Dakota as it was for him. 

Dakota was completely stunned, his eyes flickering between Cavendish and Mr. Block.

A bubble of anger rose up. How dare Dakota show his face here, how dare he act like he didn’t endanger their lives, how dare he pretend saving two kids was nothing, because that was the most courageous act of foolishness Cavendish had ever seen in his life.

“Wait a minute, do you two know each other?” Mr. Block asked suspiciously as Dakota stared at Cavendish as if expecting a tirade on how he would never work willingly with someone who breaks speed limits just because they couldn’t control their hunger.

Cavendish threatened to report Dakota to the proper authorities, and he was always a man of his word.

“Here it comes,” Dakota muttered, resigned to his fate. 

“I’ll tell you exactly what I know about this man,” Cavendish said. 

* * *

 

There were a million things Stretch could say that would incriminate Dakota right then and there.

Sabotaging a new recruit.

Taking an unauthorized trip through the timestream with a company-owned vehicle.

Using the company-owned vehicle for personal reasons. 

Stealing his favorite lollipop. 

Reckless driving. 

Dakota normally didn’t give a second thought to his rulebreaking, but geez, he was feeling lower than a discarded piece of gum on a leather boot for dragging along an innocent man who could potentially do great things in his future. 

“When someone is in trouble, he’s a good man to have around. Balthazar Cavendish, pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” Stretch said, extending his hand in a formal greeting. 

Shocked by Stre-Cavendish’s formality and calm but respectful tone, Dakota stared at the offered hand for several tense seconds before finally grasping it in a firm handshake. 

Dakota wasn’t usually forgiven so easily, and Cavendish most definitely struck him as the type to hold a grudge. Still, it beat getting into trouble with the authorities. 

On another note, didn’t he see that old surname on bananas at the grocery store? 

“Pleased as well. And thanks,” Dakota finally managed. 

“Don’t mention it,” Cavendish replied. 

“I won’t,” Dakota grinned. 

“Though I might,” Cavendish said, his eyes narrowing. “Later.” 

Dakota had no doubt that his new partner would indeed follow up on that threat. “I’m sure you will.” 

By this point, their handshake was less of a handshake and more just rhythmically moving their arms up and down together. 

“Whatever. Get out of my office,” Mr. Block snapped.

Unwilling to be on the receiving end of Mr. Block’s wrath on the first day, they hurried out and the door automatically closed behind them.

“So, partner. What kinda mission do ya think they’re gonna send us on?” Dakota asked. They passed by a secretary’s desk, and Dakota discreetly snagged a cotton candy lollipop from the jar left conveniently on the side. 

“Well, I believe they’d start us off with reviewing old cases,” Cavendish mused. “It would help us learn the patterns, see which areas of time require more of a presence, and help us catch the perpetrators who dare mess with the planet and its inhabitants. Which would include evil scientists bent on misusing the field of discovery for nefarious purposes, hunters intending to swipe the most valuable objects in history, and worst of all-” 

Cavendish snatched the unwrapped cotton candy lollipop out of Dakota’s hand, stuck it in his mouth, pulled it out, and stuck it on the window behind him in one smooth flourish. 

The man was so smooth at revenge. 

Dakota felt a light tap along his jaw, and belatedly he realized Cavendish had closed his mouth for him because he was too stunned to do it himself. 

“-lollipop thieves who revel in stealing and wasting other people’s favorite food,” Cavendish smirked. “I believe I said I’d mention it later. Don’t look so flabbergasted, man.” 

“You are one petty stickler, Cavendish.” 

“And you are a reckless hoodlum, Dakota.”

“Square.” 

“Carjacker.” 

“Stick up your butt.” 

“Scoundrel.” 

And that’s how Dakota knew it would be the dawn of a beautiful partnership. 


End file.
